Above the East China Sea: A Novel (28 page)

I point to the signs. “Uh,
electricidad? Peligro de muerte?
”

Jake bangs his hand against the nearest of several tall metal sheds. It clangs hollowly. “They’re fake. The only things that are real are these,”
Jake says as he lights several of the candles sitting on the concrete. Hidden behind the sheds is a small stone shrine in the shape of a house with a thatched roof. It is encircled by coins, incense, fruit, small cakes, glasses of sake. Each group of offerings is carefully placed within one of eight outlines.

Jake points to them and says, “Every one of those is the outline of one of the eight villages that were eradicated when the U.S. military claimed all this land.”

I look more closely and see, etched into the concrete, drawings of streams with tiny fish swimming in them, plots of land with images of potatoes, stick figures dancing, the distinctive turtle-shell shape of tombs. They’re hieroglyphics describing a vanished world drawn by people still mourning the hometowns that they can see on the other side of a barbed-wire fence, but that are lost to them forever. It’s like the brat hometown curse taken to an unbearable level.

Jake taps the drawing of a tomb. “After the war, after the military seized their homes, their farms, that’s what the displaced villagers wanted most. They wanted their ancestors. They would never be at peace if they weren’t allowed to return to the spot where their tombs had once stood in order to fulfill their obligations so that their ancestors could enter the next realm and then be able to guide and protect them.

“And that was the deal the villagers, led by my great-great-grandfather, managed to get from the base commander. In exchange for the villagers not protesting the golf course, their representative, my great-great-grandfather, was made manager of the course. A section of the course was set aside, and each year during the three days of Obon, the course is closed and the oldest male of each village family is allowed to bring offerings and pay his respects. But the deal was never official, so—”

“So that’s why you and your family pretty much have to live and work at the course and put up with ignorant comments from people like Kirby.”

“Oh, did Kernshaw tell you what a big sellout I am?”

I shrug. “Sort of. Not exactly.”

“Don’t worry. It’s nothing he hasn’t said to me in person.”

A sudden stillness comes over the course. Even the trees stop rustling.
I glance around, feeling like we’re being watched. And not just by one or two people—it seems as though a great crowd is studying us. But there’s no one there, and I’m overwhelmed again by the same sensation I had in Murder House: that I am hurtling downward toward my death. Again, the strength drains from my body and I sink to my knees. The instant I do, the earth is solid beneath me once more. My heart still pounds with fear. I look up at Jake and beg him, “I need to know what to do.”

Jake kneels next to me. “It’s okay, Luz. You’re doing what you’re supposed to do. What the
kami
want you to do. You’re showing respect.”

“K
ami
?”

“Spirits. Deities. Ancestors. All of the above. There’s no exact English translation. Should we ask them for their help?” Before I can answer, Jake claps his hands sharply, then begins speaking in a casual, conversational tone. “Hello, this is Jake Furusato, great-great-grandson of Eitarō Furusato, who had this shrine built for you. And this is my friend Luz James. We’ve come to ask for your help.”

Jake takes out all the change he has in his pockets and neatly arranges the coins at the edge of the shrine. I take off the opal necklace that Codie gave me and put it next to the coins. Jake nods approval. The loneliness that has haunted me since Codie died disappears. It’s like the good moment in Murder House and, for once, I feel as if I am exactly where I am supposed to be.

Jake tips his chin toward the candles. “Tell them what you need.”

“Don’t they already know?”

“No, this isn’t like the Christian god who’s everywhere and knows everything. You have to tell them.”

I think about what an idiot I’ll feel like, speaking to the spirits of the Deigo Tree Golf Course. But one glance at Jake, kneeling beside me, his hands folded, who has shared a secret that could destroy his family, and that fear leaves. “I need help—”

“Get their attention first,” Jake interrupts. He mimes clapping.

I clap several times, then begin again. “I would like your help to find out what my sister—”

“Tell them her name, your mom’s name, and your Okinawan grandmother’s name.”

“My sister is Codie James.” I like the
kami.
I like that Codie is in the
present tense with them. “My mother was born Gena Overholt. Now James. Oh, I forgot to introduce myself. I’m Luz James. My grandmother was Setsuko Overholt. She’s Okinawan. Her Okinawan name was Setsuko Uehara. I need to know what I’m supposed to do.”

I stop then because what I really want to ask the
kami
about is the girl in the cave. But even here, I can’t reveal the full extent of that disturbing vision. Instead, I take the crumpled envelope from my bag, put it down on the cement, and say, “This is the phone number for a
yuta.
Since they’re supposed to be able to communicate with the … those who are gone, maybe you know whether my mother consulted this person. Maybe you know why. Maybe this
yuta
knows what I’m supposed to do.” I look over to Jake.

“State the problem,” he advises.

“Should I see the
yuta
? Will this person be able to help me? What if this
yuta
only speaks Japanese?” I glance over at Jake. “Now what?”

“Now we pray.”

“Out loud?”

“However you want.”

“And then?”

“We wait until they put the answer in our hearts.”

I don’t know how long we kneel in front of the shrine. Long enough for the sky to lighten to a pearly gray and for streaks of apricot to appear along the eastern horizon.

When he finally stands, Jake picks up the envelope, puts it in his pocket, says, “We’d better get a few hours’ sleep. We’ll need to be rested tomorrow. I’ll make the appointment.”

Before I can ask any more questions, Jake’s phone buzzes. He checks it and says one word, “Pilgrims.”

TWENTY-SEVEN

Back in our sleeping cave that evening, I said nothing about the
Yamato
being sunk and the fleet destroyed. The others probably
already know of this tragedy and have been showing true Japanese spirit by not giving voice to such gloomy information. Hatsuko and our friends were unusually quiet and somber; their first day as student nurses must have been as shocking and unsettling as mine had. My sister, however, was the most demoralized. Like the rest of us, Hatsuko had lost weight, but even beyond that, she seemed to be shriveling into a smaller, more frightened person. I tried to coax a smile out of her by saying that it was lucky we’d grown up on a farm with goats and pigs, so that men and their odors weren’t such a surprise to us.

Miyoko and Sachiko perked up at this touch of levity. Sachiko, her nose wrinkled in disgust, finally felt free to ask, “Did you have to touch their … you know? Down there.”

This triggered nervous giggles as we realized that we’d all had to endure the same humiliation. The only one who denied herself the release of our shared humor was the one I’d intended it for, my sister. “Don’t laugh at the emperor’s soldiers,” she snapped at me. “How would you like it if some nurse in the Philippines or Manchukuo mocked our brothers in this way?”

Too late I remembered that Hatsuko had always been excused from cleaning the goat pen and feeding the pigs because the smell alone would make her vomit. I could only imagine how badly what my sensitive sister had experienced that day had affected her.

A bit later, a skinny corporal poked his head into our cave and barked out the order that a new mess had been established to handle the influx of patients and soldiers, and that two of us were to come with him immediately to draw our rations for the day. I jumped up. “Hatsuko, come with me. The air will do us both good.”

Hatsuko refused with a weary shake of her head and continued scratching listlessly at the lice tormenting her.

“Mitsue?” I asked. I knew that this day must have been particularly hard on her as well, what with being around so many soldiers who surely reminded her of her dead fiancé. Always struggling to be pleasant, in spite of her sorrow, Mitsue agreed to come with me.

The new kitchen was a fifteen-minute walk away. It had been erected next to a cave that contained a natural spring. There was already a long line when we arrived. As we waited, wooden tubs so huge that they required three men to carry them were hauled out from the cave kitchen to the distribution shack. In the shack a portly mess sergeant
with a voice harsh as a crow’s squawk yelled orders. His underlings, their faces flushed from the steaming tubs, used shovels to dump rice into the ration pails of those ahead of us.

Mitsue and I each held a pail. Our job was to collect enough rice for the fifty of us in our cave. I was glad that Mitsue had agreed to accompany me; we always received generous portions when she was by my side.

Though it was lovely to be outside on a perfect day in late spring and to feel the sun on my face, I couldn’t stop worrying about my sister; she didn’t have my ability to put unpleasant thoughts out of her head.

There was always one of two side dishes to accompany the rice, either seaweed or bean paste. I hoped that today we would have bean paste, since Hatsuko preferred it. Somehow I’d try to wangle an extra serving for her. I wanted my strong, noble big sister back, and whispered a prayer for help to Old Jug, the ancestor who
Anmā
maintained had always taken an interest in our family.

Just as I finished, a group of the newly arrived officers ambled in, talking and joking among themselves. Officers never appeared in the mess line, and we all stiffened at the sight of their swords glinting in the sun. Since their rations were delivered to them, they were obviously simply out for a stroll. In the middle of the group I glimpsed Lieutenant Nakamura and was seized by the certainty that Old Jug had brought him to me in answer to my prayer.

“Lieutenant Nakamura!” I called out.

“What are you doing?” Mitsue hissed, horrified that I was addressing an officer. Everyone’s attention snapped my way at this breach of protocol. Nakamura looked over at us. I shoved my pail into Mitsue’s free hand, hissed, “Please, cousin, play along. This is for our Hatsuko,” and hurried over to the lieutenant.

Fortunately, either Nakamura wasn’t as rigid as most of the officers, who gave me fierce scowls, or my guppy face amused him, because he regarded me with a kindly expression as I approached. Bowing deeply, I blurted out the mission I had fabricated. “Please, sir, forgive this impertinent intrusion, but yours is the only name I happen to know, and I am in desperate need of assistance.”

“ ‘Desperate’?” he repeated with the hint of a smile.

“Yes, yes, if you could, please come this way.” With a shrug toward
his friends, Nakamura followed me back to Mitsue, whose expression had gone from puzzlement to annoyance. “My friend needs help carrying our rations back to the others in our chamber,” I explained. “A dire necessity is forcing me to leave. Immediately.”

He understood at once; dysentery was sweeping the caves. I took my bucket from Mitsue and shoved it into Nakamura’s hands.

Mitsue grabbed it back and snapped, “I don’t need any help.”

I couldn’t believe that my cousin was so wrapped up in grief for her dead fiancé that she wouldn’t help me out. Fortunately, the gallant lieutenant held out his hand and said, “Please, I insist. It would be my honor to aid you in this small matter, Miss Shimojo.”

I was encouraged that, somehow, he already knew Mitsue’s name. Still, my cousin hesitated for a long moment and heaved an impatient sigh before she finally handed the bucket over to the lieutenant. At that, I darted off with an urgency that lent credibility to my story. I ran all the way back to our cave, entered breathless, and yelled to Hatsuko, “Quickly! Get ready. Lieutenant Nakamura is coming.”

For several seconds, my sister sat frozen, staring at me. When she saw from my expression that Nakamura truly was about to appear, it was as though a current that had been switched off was turned back on. She asked me whether there were any specks of soot on her face from the oily kerosene smoke, and I used the edge of my blouse to clean them all away. Then Hatsuko scrambled about, begging the other girls for a few leaves of tea and some lumps of sugar. Somehow, she managed to have a cup of tea brewing when Nakamura, carrying both pails, arrived. Being the gentleman he was, he stopped and stood aside so that Mitsue might enter first.